


25 Days of Shassie

by Zaxal



Category: Psych
Genre: Advent Calendar, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angst, BDSM, Bad Parenting, Crossdressing Kink, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Meeting the Parents, One Shot Collection, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-20 00:14:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 10,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaxal/pseuds/Zaxal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>25 Christmas/Winter-themed one shots for the first 25 days of December.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Wallflowers Allowed

**Author's Note:**

> **Table of Contents**  
>  1\. Mistletoe - No Wallflowers Allowed - T+  
> 2\. Hot Chocolate - Addition to Tradition - G  
> 3\. Snow - When Snow Burns - T+  
> 4\. Candy Canes - Tease - T+  
> 5\. Christmas Tree - Putting Up The Christmas Ficus - G  
> 6\. Angel - Timeless - M  
> 7\. Pie - Parental Approval - G  
> 8\. Tinsel - Glitter Never Looked So Good - M  
> 9\. Ice Skating - Synchronized Slipping - T+  
> 10\. Frost - Icemelt - T+  
> 11\. Eggnog - New Isn't Bad - G  
> 12\. Cider - The Cider Rite - T+  
> 13\. Peppermint - Giving In - G  
> 14\. Gingerbread - Our Future (Rendered in Gingerbread) - G  
> 15\. Presents - Naughty List - M  
> 16\. Fireplace - Indulgence - T+  
> 17\. Stockings - Unwrap Me - M  
> 18\. Cookies and Milk - Through the Storm - G  
> 19\. Santa - Christmas Miracles - G  
> 20\. Sled - Two Grown Men On A Child-Size Sled - G  
> 21\. Snowman - Hubert The Voyeur Snowman - M  
> 22\. Jingle Bells - Ring-a-ling - T+  
> 23\. Carols - A Private Show - G  
> 24\. Chestnuts - The Real Squirrel-Wives of Santa Barbara - G  
> 25\. Christmas Movies and Music - Together, Spirits Rise - G

The Christmas party was in full swing, officers, consultants, and the partners of those filling the pub. He was well on his way to being pleasantly buzzed, and he knew most of the others were at least that far or worse. Shawn grinned as he watched them. The troubles of their everyday lives had seemed to slowly melt away in favor of friendly camaraderie. Smiles and laughs joined the chatter the way they usually didn't at the station, and he had to admit that it was nice to see everyone a little unbuttoned, relaxing and enjoying the evening.

But even as he, Gus, and Juliet led several others in recreations of the dances from A Charlie Brown Christmas, Shawn couldn't help but notice Lassiter, as always, in the corner, looking sad, miserable, alone as he threw back another scotch. Shawn knew the holiday wasn't Lassiter's favorite – he often spent it working or alone, and the only reason he was at the party was because Chief Vick had insisted he make an appearance. But Christmas was usually about families and friendships, and Lassie didn't have much of either. Shawn couldn't help but feel sorry for the guy, and that was why he ended up slipping away from the crowd of tipsy dancers to make he way over to Lassiter's solitary corner.

"Hey, buddy." Shawn jumped up into the seat across from him at his small, out-of-the-way table. "All over here by your lonesome?"

"I'd prefer it that way," Lassiter answered, his voice stiff and direct. He was obviously working hard not to let his speech slur, and that made Shawn frown. He hadn't seen Lassiter drunk often, but from his limited experience, he knew it wouldn't end well.

"Psychic vibes are telling me you don't mind the company," he said, not wanting to leave Lassiter alone. The man would work himself into a downward spiral of negativity without distraction, and Shawn didn't actually mind a break away from everyone else. "But if you really want me to, I'll leave."

Lassiter eyed him, frowning, but in the end, he was silent, only offering up a stiff nod to let Shawn know that he could stay. Shawn smiled and leaned forward on the table. "So, you're changing the charge at the seventeen-minute mark of the reenactment?"

Lassiter's eyes widened, and Shawn didn't miss the subtle play of pink in the tips of his ears. "New historical evidence suggests that the Union came up east to the bridge, not straight on. Plus, it'll give the audience a chance to see all of the soldiers in the midst of the fight."

Shawn nodded knowingly. "So you do know how to put on a show."

"It's not a show, Spencer," Lassiter growled. "It's an important historical recreation that demonstrates the use of strategy and quick thinking in a way that helped change the course of human history. And if we don't take the lessons they learned and apply them now, we're doomed in the future. Everybody knows that."

Shawn couldn't help smiling at his passion. "Almost surprised you didn't become a soldier yourself, Lassie."

Lassiter shrugged and leaned forward on his elbows, arms folded on the table. "I don't have to be overseas fighting for some nebulous idea of the American way to be in a war." His speech began go slur at the edges as his speech got faster. "Every day, I go out there and see people who've been hurt or killed by their neighbors. For money or lust or... or cruelty, I guess. For nothing. That's..." He sighed and hung his head. "There are fucked up things in the world, Spencer. No denying that. But how could I run away to look after all of that when people are dying here?"

Shawn felt something in his heart pang as pieces of Lassiter's puzzle slid into place. "Who was it that wanted you to be a soldier?"

He saw Lassiter's jaw clench as his head ducked more. Hiding away as if it would keep Shawn from knowing. Shawn extended his hand out across the table, his fingers resting gently on top of Lassiter's. "You're the hero Santa Barbara needs, but not the one it deserves, y'know?"

Lassiter laughed humorlessly, "I'm not a hero, Spencer." He pulled his hands away and pushed himself away from the table. His chair teetered precariously on two legs for a moment before slamming down. Lassiter was on his feet and weaving his way towards the door, and Shawn was on his heels, following him out into the night.

Lassiter stumbled, but Shawn was quick, catching his arm and pulling him up in the overhang of the pub entrance. Lassiter's arm went over his shoulder, instinctively steadying himself. He turned to look at Shawn, but before he could say anything, Shawn interrupted him. "You're _my_ hero, Lassie."

Lassiter snorted, "Liar." He didn't sound as convincing as he might have before.

Shawn pushed himself up, pressing his lips against Lassiter's. Whether it was the alcohol, the relatively peaceful evening, or perhaps because he liked Shawn a little, too, Lassiter kissed him back. However, when they parted, there was an accusatory, hurt look in his eyes. "Mistletoe," Shawn explained.

Lassiter looked up and frowned. "There's no mistletoe up there, Spencer."

"Sure there is," Shawn said easily, smiling when Lassiter tried to subtly glance up again. "Invisible to those without a fifth sense."

"Sixth," Lassiter corrected, and Shawn couldn't help but notice that he still had his arm around Shawn's shoulder, leaning heavily on him. Realizing the implications of what he'd said, Lassiter's eyes went wide, and he began to stumble over his words, "Not that I think- I know that it's not- You aren't-!"

"I so totally am," Shawn said with a grin. "Which is how I know you want me to do this again."

He kissed Lassiter and could help his grin when Lassiter kissed him back. They stood together for a moment, lips locked, bodies pushed against each other. Lassiter leaned too hard, they both stumbled back, and Shawn began breathlessly laughing as he leaned on the wall for support, pulling Lassiter up and against him.

Before he knew it, Lassiter was kissing him again, and once they'd parted, equally breathless, Lassiter only said, "Mistletoe," and Shawn couldn't help his merry laugh as Lassiter grabbed his hand and led him with a wobbly step back to the party.


	2. Addition to Tradition

Carlton doesn't allow himself to indulge often, but this is a tradition dating back to his childhood, unchanged from when he'd worn pajamas covered in horses and cowboys, and he's not inclined to change it now. Sure, there have been some changes, but even Shawn's annoyingly endearing ability to turn his entire life upside down can't change what he does on the evening December 23rd.

He puts milk on to warm and walks quickly around the kitchen, pulling down mugs, marshmallows, and mix. By the time he's got everything in line, the milk is just the right temperature. He combines the mix and the milk in the mugs, stirs, then heaps a generous mountain of marshmallows into both of the mugs.

Shawn sits up from where he's sprawled on the couch, eyes gleaming at the prospect of sugary goodness in just a few moments. "Movie in?" He asks, holding Shawn's mug – #1 Psychic Detective – just out of reach.

Shawn rolls his eyes, "Yeah, of course." Flashing Carlton a bright smile, he reaches up for his hot cocoa. "Didn't figure you to be a _Rudolph_ kind of guy. _A Christmas Story_ maybe. Kid wants a gun – right up your alley. But _Rudolph_?"

Carlton hands him his cocoa and settles on his end of the couch, clasping his own mug – Daddy of the Year, a prank gift from Shawn last year that Carlton's determined to use just to make a point that Shawn can't embarrass him – between his hands. He shrugs. " _A Christmas Story_ is for Christmas Eve. We always watched it together."

Shawn's watching him keenly, in that way he does when he's figuring something out. Carlton resigns himself to having his walls torn down, blasted through without a care in the world. "You watched _Rudolph_ alone?"

"With cocoa," Carlton confirms, hoping Shawn will drop the subject. He doesn't of course, eyebrows lowering as he keeps filing and rearranging, trying to find the answer. Carlton sips his hot chocolate, feeling the slight burn on his tongue as Shawn's eyes light up in sudden recognition.

Shawn doesn't say anything, which is perhaps how Carlton knows he's being serious. Shawn sets his mug to the side and crawls across the couch. Carlton moves his hands away, keeping the cocoa where it can't spill on either of them. Shawn leans in quickly, kisses the tip of his nose and then his lips.

Carlton can't help but feel exposed as Shawn draws away, back to the other end of the couch, but there's something sweet and adoring in Shawn's expression that makes feeling open less scary and more perfect than he could have ever hoped for. Carlton pulls his legs up onto the couch, and his and Shawn's feet tangle together, settling warm and connected as Shawn starts the movie.


	3. When Snow Burns

His mother's taken them to Colorado to see their father who keeps sending them postcards and letters talking about snow. Neither he nor Lauren have seen snow before – they watch the landscape roll by with wide eyes, each chasing fluffy snowflakes to the ground while their elder brother grumbles about the cold in the front seat.

Carlton likes the snow at first. He likes the way it melts on his skin and catches in his dark hair. He likes the slip of it beneath his boots and the way it freezes his hands when he throws a snowball and successfully pegs his brother in the head in spite of his mother's glare.

"Nice shot, Booker," his father says from the doorway of his house in the country, as approving and kind as he always was, and Carlton scrambles over the snow towards him, practically barreling into his open arms. His father smells different, like tobacco and firewood, and though Carlton misses it, he's more than happy to be with him again.

It doesn't last, though. Can't, of course, because these things never do. There are little fights; small, ignorable ones that spark up without the least provocation, burning, and Carlton listens even though he shouldn't.

He's hiding behind the couch, playing with one of his father's snowglobes when it erupts. Words are said, harsh words that burn hotter than Carlton can imagine hell to be. He calls Carlton's mother a whore and a hypocrite, calls his eldest son a layabout loser, his daughter destined to grow up in her mother's shoes.

Carlton's barely aware of anything when the words fall like the snowglobe from his hands, shattering on the ground just seconds after his father spits out, "Carlton was a _mistake_."

"Booker," his father says, apologizing and shouting at the same time, and Carlton races out of the house and into the snow, feeling each flake land on his skin and burn through him. His bare feet are frozen solid by the time he reaches his mother's car, and he pulls at the handle, frantically trying to escape and knowing that he can't. That he's trapped just like the person in the snowglobe, doomed forever.

He begs his mother, cries and begs and begs, but she forces all of them to remain there for the rest of the weekend. Carlton doesn't meet his father's eyes, doesn't acknowledge him except when his mother forces him to. When they part ways, the snow has stopped for a few hours, and the sun beats down on them.

"I love you, Booker," his father lies.

Carlton can't stomach it and says, even though he knows he'll be in trouble for it later, possibly for the rest of his life. "I never want to see you again."

That's where it ended in real life, when they drove away and Carlton swore that he would never ever forgive or forget what his father had said. But in his nightmares, as they're driving away, they hit a glass wall. And again and again, and it isn't until his mother and siblings force him out of the car that they can pass through. He slams his fists against the base of the dome, crying even as the snow kicks up around him, raining down on him again, burning and cold at the same time, and his only option is to turn around and go back to that man's house.

That's when Carlton wakes, covered in sweat, eyes wild as he claws for a gun, for freedom, but Shawn is quicker than he is, more easily alert just after waking, and it isn't long before he finds himself wrapped in Shawn's arms, cradled gently as Shawn soothes him. "It's all right. I'm here, Lassie. I'm here."

Carlton, still in a daze of panic and fear, asks, "No snowglobes?"

"No snowglobes," Shawn promises fiercely, holding onto him until Carlton feels his own heartbeat slow to match Shawn's. He realizes there are tear tracts on his face and more rolling down his cheek. Carlton lets them and hopes that someday the nightmares will stop.


	4. Tease

Shawn's doing his best to get Lassiter's attention. He has four candycanes hooked into the collar of his t-shirt, and a fifth hanging out of his mouth. He knows that Lassiter sees the lollipops, the popsicles, the way Shawn teases the straws of his slushies with his tongue. He sees Lassiter's eyes widen, zeroing in, the tips of his ears turning pink, and Shawn's waiting for Lassiter to get fed up and take control, put his mouth to much better use.

Today, Shawn's feeling frisky, so he brought along five little helpers to push Lassiter past his limit. He hangs around the station for most of the day, licking and sucking, downright fellating the candy every time he feels Lassiter's eyes burning him as they stare at his mouth.

He's all the way down to his last one. He swallows it, the hook sticking out of his mouth as he lets the rest sit in his throat. He tilts his head back, and it isn't as impressive as a real show, but Lassiter has to ask before Shawn can give it to him, and they both know that rule by now.

The candycane is almost gone, and he's actually on his way out of the station, deflated by Lassiter's apparent unwillingness to take charge even when Shawn's practically begging him to. But before he even makes it to the front desk, there's a hand on his shoulder, shoving him into the wall of the hallway.

Shawn's gasps shamelessly and presses against the body that's pushing his against the wall. Lassiter's rumbling growl sounds somehow approving, but before Shawn can do anything, Lassiter snarls, hot and angry in his ear, "I'm allergic to mint, jackass."

Shawn's reeling from the acknowledgment that Lassiter wants him, and if it weren't for Lassiter pinning him to the wall, he would have slid to his knees to apologize as best he could, but Lassiter didn't let him. "So. Raincheck?"

Lassiter doesn't say anything, but when Shawn sees his eyes, he sees something hungry and turned on, and Shawn knows the answer already.


	5. Putting Up The Christmas Ficus

Carlton wakes up the day after Thanksgiving, his stomach still full and body pleasantly worn out from the after-dinner festivities. He sighs and nestles contentedly in Shawn's bed. He's not even concerned that Shawn's somehow flown the coop – they had a fantastic dinner with Henry the previous night after spending most of the day with the Gusters. Shawn should be as content and lazy as he is, but the TV is in the other room, and Shawn sometimes wakes up, can't go to sleep, and relocates.

Carlton can't resist following after him, but what he finds is decidedly not what he'd been expected. Shawn is looking frazzled, his hair sticking up in angles that would be impossible if not for the copious amounts of hair product that's practically fused with Shawn's hair. He darts this way and that around the room, not even aware – or not showing it at least – that Carlton's awake and watching.

Shawn's got a box that must have once been full of decorations, but instead, those are on one of the fake plants that Shawn keeps to keep Gus happy. Something about how they increase oxygen, increase happiness and inner peace, but both Carlton and Shawn have a tendency to zone out when Gus starts in on that sort of thing, so it's no wonder that they've both elected to ignore the benefits and just go for convenience.

The point is, Shawn has apparently been up and frantically decorating a fake ficus, and is now staring at it with pursed lips and glaring as if it's done something to purposefully harm him.

Carlton steps into the living room, walking closer to him, but Shawn doesn't acknowledge him. Carlton tentatively wraps his arms around Shawn, pulling Shawn back against him without any resistance. "It doesn't look right," Shawn says, and Carlton can tell from the tone of his voice that he didn't sleep much the previous night.

"What's it supposed to look like?" Carlton rests his head against Shawn's, trying to see what he sees. Carlton can confess that it looks like a badly thrown-together mess, but that's usually not a problem for Shawn.

"A Christmas tree." Shawn whines slightly, "I wanted to get it up before you woke up."

"It's a tree. It's decorated for Christmas. I think it qualifies."

"It looks all wrong," Shawn sulks, glaring at it again. Carlton doesn't miss the way Shawn leans into him, his energy calming slightly with Carlton near. Carlton kisses his temple and looks at the poor ficus again, trying to discern what's bothering Shawn as if the ficus is going to reveal all of Shawn's inner turmoil.

Instead, he sees something blindingly obvious, and he chuckles in Shawn's ear, "Idiot."

"Hey," Shawn protests without any heat.

Carlton nudges Shawn's head with his own, making them both look at the tree, "There's no star at the top."

Carlton can practically hear the gears turning in Shawn's head as whatever has actually got him in a mood aligns itself with the missing tree topper. Shawn turns to look at him, eyes alight and grin beaming before he presses a quick kiss to Carlton's lips. "Lassie, you're a genius."

He takes off again, energy moving forward and his troubled thoughts abandoned with the idea of putting a star atop the Christmas ficus. Carlton finds himself looking at it and smiling. Unconventional, yes, but most things with Shawn were. And that, he had decided a long time ago, was what made them so very special.


	6. Timeless

In the time Before, when the world was born, and the first men walked the earth, there were angels too. And, in time, some of the angels Fell, their doubt and rebellion casting them from the grace of the heavens into the pits of hell.

In that time Before, there was an Angel of Diligence named Callel who, with his brethren, sought to rid the world of the demons that plagued the Earth. Wielding a fiery sword and a storm in his heart, Callel ruthlessly sought out evil to purge it.

But also in that time Before, there was a Demon of Sloth called Asharat whose greatest failing was that he had once been an Angel of Diligence but had refused to lift his sword against the demonic masses. Callel and Asharat's final battle was famous in its time.

But that was a long time ago.

No one remembers now where the battle took place or how the heat of it had created a desert, stretching as far as the eye could see, shared hatred burning away all life around them. Even their names were lost, fading except to two beings who, by chance, met again in a time that wasn't that long ago. And even though they remember, for some reason, the names never cross their lips, nor do they remind each other of that time so long ago.

But they remember it all, their cruelty, their hatred, but, most importantly, they remember their love. Shawn's fingers bury themselves in the preened feathers of Carlton's wings, feeling them flex and spread beneath his hands, pushing with Carlton's body, bringing them both closer and closer to heaven than either of them have been since Before.

Shawn's own wings are spread out behind him, the dappled brown feathers contrasting to Carlton's white. Carlton strokes one hand across the soft feathers reverently, reaching Shawn where no one else can except one of their own.

And they won't either. They wouldn't dare intrude on this, what they've had since they were both charged with Diligence and since both failed in their own way.

"Lassie," Shawn says, arching, grinding, desperately seeking release. "God, Lassie, pleaseplease."

Carlton smiles quite wickedly for an angel and grabs Shawn's wings with both hands. Using his own wings, he propels them off the bed, hovering in the air, the sensation of flight, of being close, of being fulfilled making everything explode in pleasure and light before they both fall to the bed again.


	7. Parental Approval

Henry walks into his kitchen and immediately stops. The wheels in his head keep turning, noting the flour, pecans, and various other pie ingredients strewn all around his kitchen, making it look like a battlefield. The fridge door is open, and there's an egg slowly sliding down the front, landing with an incriminating plop on the hardwood floor.

Normally, he'd be livid, and he feels the rage rising the way it always has when Shawn's gone out of his way to destroy the carefully constructed order of his home. But today is different because today, a few days before Christmas, Shawn isn't alone. He had brought Carlton over, the older man obviously anxious and ready to fight or bolt at the first sign of Henry's disapproval after being told that they were dating.

The two of them are in as much a mess as the kitchen around them. Carlton's face has a white handprint covering it like some sort of war paint, and both of their clothes were absolutely covered. They are also currently connected at the mouth, kissing tenderly in the midst of their warzone, completely oblivious to Henry's intrusion.

Henry considers the mess they created one last time and rolls his eyes. "I hope at least one of you is planning on going to buy dessert since you're obviously not planning on fixing it."

Carlton pulls away quickly, blushing like a teenager which only deepens when Shawn's arms refuse to let him go. Shawn grins over at him, completely devoid of apology. In fact, he looks happy, really, genuinely happy for the first time in a long time. "We'll go pick up some pie, Pop."

"Nothing with pineapple," he says severely. "And then the two of you are going to make this place as spotless as it was before... whatever it was happened."

Carlton nods meekly, but Shawn frowns, "But Lassie was the one who said-!"

"I don't care, Shawn. You're both going to clean it. Have I made myself clear?"

Carlton watches him for a moment, puzzling, but then something in his expression lightens. Henry nods at him, more assured by that light in his eyes than he could have been with anything either Shawn or Carlton could have said.

The way they kiss in the middle of their argument on the way to Henry's truck, both grinning like idiots when they break it off certainly helps, too.


	8. Glitter Never Looked So Good

Shawn took a step back to admire his handiwork, smiling warmly when Carlton sighed unhappily at the sudden lack of warmth on top of him. It had started early that morning when Shawn had put up a drawing of Carlton as the Grinch on the wall covered in mugshots. The ensuing scuffle had lasted maybe all of ten minutes before Shawn had Carlton staring at him with wide eyes, blown pupils, and desires he'd never directly ask for.

Not until Shawn had him already cuffed, anyway.

Carlton was spread out on the bed, breathing heavily, his entire body moving and shuddering with arousal and the tickling sensation of the multiple strings of tinsel Shawn wrapped around his arms, winding down over his neck, and the opposite end twined between Carlton's legs. Shawn had a spare scrap that fell off the stuff they actually used on the tree, bright red that stood out starkly against Carlton's pale skin.

He teased it lightly up and down Carlton's body, watching as goosebumps rose on his skin and other, more interesting parts of his anatomy perked up, begging silently to be touched and teased.

Shawn's smile turned slightly devious as he continued skating the glittering tinsel all over Carlton, making him writhe and whine, arching up into the gentle, tickling touch. Shawn leaned over next to him on the bed, flicking the tinsel against Carlton's skin. Hearing Carlton really beg for it was always worth the wait.


	9. Synchronized Slipping

"Wait, wait, hold up," Shawn said, looking over their current situation with lowered eyebrows. "You mean to tell me that someone found one of these..." He looked to Gus to fill in the blank.

"Nuclear fallout shelters," Gus supplied.

"Right, those, then flooded it with several inches of water and froze it."

"He's a nutjob," Carlton growled. "No one said it had to make sense."

"Well, I am. I'm putting my foot down. This makes no sense. It's the most totally ridiculous thing ever put in front of us, and it serves no purpose-"

Carlton glared at him in the dim, flickering light. "Except to let him know that we're coming, so shut the hell up and either skate or get out."

"Wow, Lassie," Shawn said. "That last bit would be perfect for my Mighty Ducks fanfiction. Would you mind if I-"

This time, it was Juliet who elbowed him in the ribs, shushing him. Carlton lifted his head and listened. He thought maybe distantly he could hear the sounds of water dripping. He shivered from the cold of the contained air, and he took the first tentative step out onto the ice.

It was slow going, all four of them. Breaking the ice was only a concern as far as noise, but the several inches above concrete was frozen through and impossible to destroy. Shawn ran and slid, arms out to the side as his sneakers hissed across the ice. He almost laughed – Carlton could practically feel it humming, waiting to be voiced – but he caught himself at the last second. He mimed zipping his lips and lowered himself, creeping along silently and ahead of the others.

Carlton and Juliet both peered through the increasing dark, looking for some obvious clue as to where their perp had escaped to. It wasn't enough that the fallout shelter should be a single room, no, but a series of tunnels connecting enough rooms for entire families to live in. Carlton half admired the effort and paranoia that would have gone into creating underground apartments in the event of a nuclear war, but at the same time, he couldn't help but be irritated that it was causing him this much trouble.

Shawn nodded down a particular branch, and Carlton wasn't sure what it said about their working relationship that he nodded sharply in return, following carefully behind him.

The shot rang out, loud and clear, and Carlton's instincts kicked in before he'd even registered that the devious bastard had a gun. He grabbed Shawn and dragged him back around the bend of the tunnel. Shawn had yelped at the gunshot, and Carlton's mind whirred with frantic possibilities as he pushed Shawn against the wall, hands wandering, searching to make sure that Shawn hadn't been hit.

When he looked up at Shawn's face, he immediately pulled away, feeling heat rise up his neck, cheeks, and ears when he saw that Shawn was blushing, too. "Thanks, Lassie," he said, voice surprisingly even.

Carlton fought to maintain his own composure. "You know that was-"

"-Strictly business?" Shawn waggled his eyebrows.

Gus came out of nowhere and did his own checkup of Shawn's physical well-being, all while berating him when it obviously should have been Carlton to be shot at as it was his job. Carlton slid over to Juliet who was watching him, too amused for her own good. "Someone needs to go back and call for backup."

"We can all..." Carlton shook his head, and Juliet sighed. "Carlton."

"Someone has to keep him pinned here, or he'll go slipping off to god-knows-where."

"I'll stay with Lassie," Shawn announced loudly, clumsily slipping directly into Carlton and throwing a friendly arm over his shoulder. Carlton shoved him off, glaring and making a cutting motion with his hand across his throat, indicating that Shawn should shut the hell up.

Shawn wobbled, arms thrust out, and Carlton caught and steadied him, both of their hands clasped onto opposite wrists. Shawn beamed. Carlton rolled his eyes. "Go on," he told the other two. "Go get help and get back down here as quick as you can."

"Got it," Juliet said. Gus looked between them quickly, muttering something at Shawn as he passed by and followed after Juliet.

"Sooo, Lassie," Shawn said the moment the other two were out of earshot. "What was _that_ all about?"


	10. Icemelt

In the day, they're frost, as cool as a pineapple smoothie, freezing everyone around them. Hostility colors their words and actions almost to the point where no one dares interfere. Even their partners are getting where they won't step into the fight. They only try and pull them back from the snarls, the smart-ass smirks, the never-ending amounts of derision they have for each other.

What started out as a game as evolved from that, though Shawn can't quite put his finger on why. Maybe it was getting too real, too scary after nightfall when it seemed like the warmth might bleed over into the dawn, or perhaps it escalated as things with them always have. But either way, they've stopped pulling punches, stopped caring, and the frost chills him to his core.

He should put an end to it. He knows that. When you're in a relationship with someone, they aren't supposed to throw your weaknesses in your face, make it apparent that they know how to break you, but for some reason he won't because, for some reason, they both do it to each other. If it were only one of them, Shawn thinks that would be worse. But they both fight hard enough to see blood, real actual hurt clutching at their hearts before they smooth it away and get back in the game.

He should stop it, stop before the frost gets even colder, turns to impenetrable ice.

But in the nighttime, what they have between them melts, warms, burns, destroys all of the doubts and loathing they have for each other and for themselves. It's more than sex and has been for months though neither one of them will admit it. It's when they whisper each other's first names breathlessly into their skin; when they move in perfect rhythm, working peacefully together for a shared goal; it's when Lassiter's bent over him, breathing hard and smiling with post-orgasmic bliss but he takes a moment to gently push Shawn's hair off his sweaty forehead, his touch as kind and soft as his shoves at the station are rough and unforgiving.

In the middle of a case, there is a fire, and when Lassiter finds him alive – terrified out of his mind and laughing at the insanity of his life but still living it – he approaches Shawn with that same firm determination that he has everywhere he goes.

But when he touches, it burns, and he pulls Shawn against him, murmuring warmly, "You fucking idiot."

Everyone around them can see when the frost melts, and Shawn could bring it back, could push Lassiter away and let this escalate towards their ultimate destruction. Instead, he lets Lassiter hold his weight, lets Lassiter berate him in that same fond, scared voice that tells Shawn everything Lassiter can't say himself.

And Shawn decides that maybe they've been fighting this enough.


	11. New Isn't Bad

"I hate this stuff," Carlton complained for the hundredth time since Shawn had begun making the eggnog. Shawn rolled his eyes again and pointedly ignored him. The fact that he knew how to make it should have been impressive enough – no cookbook, no hesitation, and it wasn't often he got to even pretend that he had prowess in the kitchen. Carlton should have been eating it up, admiring him, even maybe teasing him about how this obviously meant he could learn to actually cook.

Shawn, however, knew a secret, and so he kept up the hard work until he had two mugs full of the stuff, trotting them over to the bar where Carlton sat, scowling like the drink had somehow personally offended him.

Maybe it had, Shawn rationalized. The man had a phobia of snowglobes – it was entirely possible that eggnog had somehow wronged him in the same way. But then, Shawn also knew that Carlton was resistant to new things, pushing them away in favor of what he knew and rarely trying anything new.

Shawn had found that poking at that particular boundary of Carlton's usually resulted in interesting things.

Shawn watched with a fond smile as Carlton's tongue flicked out, tasting the eggnog cautiously before pulling back. His face screwed up in concentration, his tastebuds working with his brain to figure out if what he'd tasted was good or bad.

Having put far too much sugar in it to be anywhere near healthy, Shawn knew that it was only a matter of time before Carlton drew the mug up and took a deep drink. Shawn grinned at the somewhat satisfied look on Carlton's face with another mystery solved and another personal hurdle jumped.

"God, you're cute," he said unashamedly, laughing when Carlton glared at him.

But he took another drink anyways, his face flushed adorably pink with embarrassment. Shawn's grin only widened, and he began to drink his own.


	12. The Cider Rite

Hank sends him cider for Christmas. It's a simple gift, the same one he's received for several years running now, but he never complains. He understands that it's not the alcohol, and it's not that he's a difficult man to buy for. The cider means something else – it's hard work, done by one of Hank's close friends. It's the dust that's finally settled on Old Sonora. It's the both of them silently accepting a dynamic they've been a part of for a long time.

Carlton won't admit it, but his throat closes with raw emotion when he sees the word 'Son' written in Hank's almost illegible scrawl.

He isn't sure what possesses him to share even a drop of it with Shawn, but he makes the offer nonetheless. It's been a rough week, Carlton supposes, numb to it by now even as he realized how horrible that makes him. A teenager accidentally killed their friend, escaped before they could be arrested, and ended it. All while Shawn did his best to try and help them through it. Carlton knows Shawn helped them escape from the police, and he should be mad about it, but Shawn looks shaken and has since he'd seen the EMTs covering the body with a sheet before they loaded it into the ambulance.

"Here." He slides the glass to Shawn and leans on the bar, taking a large gulp of the precious liquid himself and feeling it burn through him. It's not the strongest stuff, but it'll get the job done.

"Thanks," Shawn says after too long, staring at the glass instead of drinking any. Carlton doesn't know why Shawn agreed to come back to his place. He doesn't even know why he offered.

Shawn's head is angled down, but Carlton can see his eyes moving like they do over so many crime scenes, narrowed and focused, scanning and trying to find something in the amber cider. Carlton can guess what he's thinking, what he's trying to find. "What happened happened," he says. He sees Shawn's body tense. "Even if you could have changed it. You can't now."

"Is that supposed to help?"

"No," Carlton answers before taking another drink. "It's the truth, Spencer. It doesn't matter what you could have, or what I could have because in the end, they're gonna bury that kid just the same, and we have to get out there tomorrow and do it all over again and hope and pray that we don't make the same mistake."

Shawn's head lifts slightly, his eyes sliding over to glance at Carlton. "'We'?"

Carlton nods and raises his glass, not feeling like he needs to say more.

Shawn ponders his drink before taking a large swig of it, throat working to take more and more like he needs to get drunk as quickly as possible. When he downs almost all of it, he pulls his arm down, almost slamming the glass on the bar. "And what do you do," he asks after several long minutes, "when you can't forget?"

Carlton considers and decides that honesty is, somehow, the best policy when dealing with Shawn. "You beat yourself up over it. You agonize. You break down and drink or take it out on the people you love. Or you push it all down and pretend nothing's wrong and let it build until it explodes."

Shawn's head turns the rest of the way, his attention honing in on Carlton. "You?" Carlton shrugs and finishes off his drink. Cautiously, Shawn asks, "Why are you telling me all this?"

Carlton meets his gaze evenly, "Because someone has to. Growing up with Henry, I bet he told you a lot about being a cop. But no one tells their ten-year-old kid about the sleepless nights, the nightmares, how easily you can get distracted by what-ifs and it almost gets you killed so you have to act without thinking or else people could die, and you have to believe in something – God, your training, your instincts, skills, something – enough that you can take that risk without worrying about how many people you're putting at risk."

Shawn nods slowly and laughs hollowly. "Yeah. Henry never told me that."

"You could always give up," Carlton says easily. He puts the bait out there, knowing what Shawn has to say, how he will react because he'll see how much he can help people just as much as he's capable of hurting them.

"No. No I can't."

There's heat in his voice, passion, and Carlton offers him a grim smile, the same one he's shared with numerous other cops after rough weeks like this one while sitting next to them in Tom Blair's or some other cop bar. Shawn takes a moment and then lights up with a surprised smile.

Carlton holds up his hand, silencing Shawn before he can say anything. "Don't ruin it."

Shawn seems to sober up, nodding. He nudges his glass over, and Carlton obliges and pours them both more cider.


	13. Giving In

Carlton can't appreciate peppermint – not unless he wants to suffer with a puffed face and a closed throat, and peppermint isn't good enough to make himself miserable for. It, somehow, makes him miserable even though he has purposefully avoided it as much as possible, and that is all Shawn's fault. Since the moment they hit the shelves, Shawn's had at least one per day hanging out of his mouth, white and red striped, his breath smelling minty and dangerous when he hovers near Carlton, too close but never close enough.

It's easy to resist temptation, though, when he knows giving in would only result in an allergic reaction. So he pushes Shawn away and gets back to work without giving Shawn a second thought (or maybe a third – he can't help his mind from wandering sometimes).

He's started smelling peppermint in his sleep. It haunts him, the ghost of possibilities.

But one day Shawn drapes his arms over Carlton's shoulders and pushes a candycane – already wet and sticky and Carlton can't help the way his tongue flicks out even knowing, knowing...

"Cinnamon," Shawn murmurs. "Thought I should try something new."

Carlton shrugs him off, but he doesn't pull the cinnamon candycane out of his mouth. He avoids Shawn's gaze, knowing that it's locked onto him. Carlton does, however, smile slightly. It's his turn to have the upper hand.


	14. Our Future (Rendered in Gingerbread)

When Shawn insisted that they make gingerbread architecture, Carlton was expecting a number of things. The Psych office or the station, maybe, crafted in the perfect detail that only Shawn could manage if he really put his mind to it. He helped Shawn as much as he could, but then Shawn had insisted that he could do better on his own, batted him away and told him not to come back until it was done.

"Laaaassie!" Shawn sing-songed, and Carlton sighed, sinking down in his favorite armchair. "C'mon Lassie, you gotta come see this!" Cartlon resisted only a moment longer until Shawn actually whistled, and the absurdity of it – and that he would actually answer it – made him smile as he slowly stood.

What he saw made him pause. It looked like any other house, too normal for Carlton's liking. Shawn didn't do normal – Shawn twisted and changed the rules. The house should be upside down, probably, and it would have made more sense, but it wasn't.

Shawn gestured towards it with a bright smile, and Carlton eyed him suspiciously before looking back at the house. Shawn deflated, "You don't like it."

"I expected something more..." Carlton shrugged and made a vague gesture with his hands.

"I took some artistic license," Shawn said defensively. "I just..." He crossed his arms, pouting and sulking, and Carlton immediately keyed in on his mood.

"Just what?" Carlton asked.

Shawn shrugged half-heartedly and glared at the house before suddenly perking up. "Oh," he said and scurried off. Carlton rolled his eyes but waited, used to Shawn's outbursts by now. When he returned, he held out a scrap of paper to Carlton. He took it, and Shawn leaned against him, watching his face as he scanned the picture.

It matched the gingerbread house perfectly, everything from doors to windows to the large porch. Shawn had taken some creative liberties – the one in the picture didn't have an observatory, but Carlton was fairly sure he could talk Shawn out of that.

He blinked suddenly, realizing what Shawn had put in front of him, what he had already accepted. "Oh."

"Oh?"

"Shawn," Carlton began, but Shawn looked up at him with those wide, pretty eyes that could say so much without Shawn having to open his mouth.

But that had never stopped him before. "I thought you'd like it. It's got a big yard. It's not that far from the beach. And," Shawn considered, shifting uncomfortably. "There's plenty of room. If. Um. If we."

Carlton loved Shawn, but sometimes he needed a break to let his brain catch up with his mouth. He kissed him gently, and when they parted, Shawn was beaming from ear to ear. "Can we?"

"Get a house?" Shawn nodded, eyes wide and pleading like he wanted a smoothie and not Carlton to agree to buy a house with him. "I want to look it over first."

"We have a tour this afternoon," Shawn announced gleefully, hugged Carlton tightly before darting over to the spare pieces of construction candy and gingerbread to make something for fun. This time, Carlton joined him.


	15. Naughty List

Shawn knows what he's getting for Christmas. He has ever since he was a kid, but he's never been so excited to open his presents. He keeps grinning at Carlton, wide and predatory and practically begging him to rip off the wrapping paper and just put all those new, neat toys to use.

Instead, Carlton makes him unwrap them on Christmas Eve, his hands shaking as he peels back the crinkly, colorful paper with innocent reindeers and Santas which ought to be blushing.

The first is a simple piece of thick, black cloth that Carlton plucks out if his hands and winds around his eyes, murmuring warmly in his ear. "You know what they are already, so you don't need to see them. Impatient brat. Couldn't wait, could you? Not gonna make you wait anymore." He pulls the knot tight enough that it won't budge.

The second package that hits his lap is the gag. Shawn fumbles blindly as he tears it open, shivering when Carlton divests him of it too. "But bad boys who peek at their presents should be punished, shouldn't they?"

Shawn opens his mouth, not to answer but for Carlton to push the ballgag in his mouth, stretching it wide as he buckles the straps around his head.

The pattern continues, interrupted only by Carlton pulling his clothes off and kissing his exposed skin. Shawn shudders when Carlton buckles a leather collar around his neck, tugging on it and bending him back so that Carlton can kiss him over the gag.

Eventually, his hands are bound above his head, and a spreader pushes his knees apart. He can't very well open the last present, but Carlton lets him feel the flogger as many different ways as he can until Shawn's broken. Aroused and vulnerable, and Carlton finally takes pity on him, fucking him until Shawn's transcended beyond his body, beyond pain and pleasure until he comes hard enough that he's not even sure what there is anymore except himself and Carlton.

"Merry Christmas," Shawn slurs when Carlton unbuckles the gag.

"Merry Christmas," Carlton says as he slowly brings Shawn back to the real world by removing one present after another. "You can have your real presents tomorrow."

"I get more?" Shawn asks, clinging to him, surprised because he hadn't anticipated more than this. Carlton's surprised him for once, and that makes him feel so happy and excited that he wishes he weren't too worn out to do anything more than cling to his husband. "I must've been a good boy."

"I wouldn't say that," Carlton says before pressing a kiss to his temple.

"S'that okay?"

"Yeah," Carlton says. "You're better at being bad."


	16. Indulgence

The fire raged in the hearth, throwing flickers of light and warmth over the living room. The couch cushions had been taken from the couch and put in front of the flames. There were blankets and pillows, too, but they were tossed onto the far, colder side ages ago as the two of them warmed.

Carlton ducked his head against Shawn's neck, breathing in the mixed smell of sweat and hair product. Shawn arched back against him, sighing softly. Both of their bodies hummed with arousal, but neither one was inclined to do anything about it, too content with their indulgent lazing by the fire.

"Lassie?"

"Mhm?"

Shawn sighed somewhat happily again but didn't say anything more. Carlton kissed the dark spots of moles and freckles along the top ridge of Shawn's back, mapping them out slowly like he had all the time in the world with the body in front of him.

The thought made him smile, his fingers slipping just beneath the waistband of Shawn's pajama pants, running over the soft, smooth skin there. He liked that idea. He liked that idea a lot.


	17. Unwrap Me

Carlton opens the door to the bedroom tentatively. After walking through a quiet, dark house, he's paranoid about what he's going to find behind his bedroom door. Shawn wants him to be jumpy, ready for whatever he has planned. That's the only reason the rest of the house is dead and silent – normally the lights are on, the TV buzzing, usually something running on the stovetop or microwave while Shawn neglects to pay even the most basic amount of attention.

Shawn's sprawled out on their bed, the blankets and pillows rumpled even though Carlton made the bed just that morning. Shawn's been waiting impatiently, wriggling and fidgeting, making a mess the way he always does. Carlton reminds himself that it's worth it.

Dear God, it's worth it.

Shawn's gorgeous – he always is, and he knows it, the smug bastard. But when he's like this, it's so much better. Not the wrapping but when he's turned on, his body flushed and still except for when he shifts, his entire body stretching. He looks almost catlike, his arms extended above his head, his body arching just off the bed.

Carlton does, however, take a moment to consider the wrapping on his present. Shawn's put effort into it, all of it carefully constructed to tap into Carlton's love of his masculinity along with Carlton's desire for femininity. His stubble darkens his face and neck, and his nails are painted red. There's makeup around his eyes, eyeliner and smoky gray eyeshadow, but there's also hair on his chest, a treasure trail running over the curve of his stomach and down into the silk panties where the fabric is distended, curved in an enticing line.

Shawn raises a leg, drawing Carlton's eye to the thigh-high stockings that make his legs seem slender and longer than they are.

"Christ," he exhales.

Shawn grins. "Hey, Lassie."

Carlton barely breathes between the door and the bed. He drops to his knees as Shawn scoots closer. Carlton begins at his ankle and starts kissing his way up the inside of Shawn's leg, letting the traveled miles go over his shoulder.

As soon as he can, Shawn bends his knee, pulling Carlton's face up close. Shawn's hips arch, and Carlton gives in, sliding his hands up, ready to take what Shawn's willing to give and make Shawn know – make him scream it at the sky, howl at the moon – that all of this, all of him belongs to Carlton.


	18. Through the Storm

It's rare that Carlton gets home earlier than Shawn, and it's even more rare that there's a legitimate reason for it. Shawn stays out late sometimes – midnight showings of old movies and television marathons with Guster – but Shawn almost never works late. When he does, it's usually a case that leaves him exhausted on every level.

Carlton's prepared for the long stretches of silence that come with mental fatigue. The emotional exhaustion means Shawn will be snippy and short with him for at least two or three days. And Carlton won't expect Shawn to wake up before noon or do anything more physically exerting than flopping from the bed to the couch for a few days either.

He knows what the next few days will be like. He doesn't like it – the lowest points in their relationship are when either one or both of them are exhausted and worn out because of a case. But he knows what's coming, and that makes it easier to deal with.

By the time the door slams open, Carlton's ready. Shawn's anger, his real anger, is the exact opposite of who he is. It's silent and stoic, and if it weren't for the slamming of doors and the way he seems to gather a storm around him, waiting to lash out the moment something gives him a reason to, then Carlton might mistake it for disinterest.

Shawn looks at him with a full-on glare as if it's Carlton's fault that he's riled up, but then the smell registers, and he pauses, eyes falling to the counter where Carlton's placed a small pile of fresh-from-the-oven chocolate chip cookies and a tall glass of milk.

He doesn't say anything as he slinks over, but at least he does. And he takes Carlton's paltry offerings of comfort with only the briefest hesitation. By the end of the third cookie, the tension's drained out of his shoulders, the anger replaced with the weariness Carlton knows he can weather for Shawn's sake.

"Thanks, Lassie," he says, the only grateful thing he'll probably say for the duration of this, but Carlton intends to hang on to it and to this. They'll make it through, regardless of what either of them at their worst think.

Time and again, Shawn's brought him up from the bottom. It's the least Carlton can do for the man he loves to return the favor.


	19. Christmas Miracles

They just finished arresting a mall Santa in front of at least a billion kids, many of whom began crying and screaming at Carlton for locking Santa up. Shawn knew the little tic beneath Carlton's eye – he was going to explode soon, and the poor kids didn't deserve that.

"Hey, hey kids, come here, I gotta tell you something." He knelt down while the kids gather around. Shawn saw the other three – Gus, Juliet, and Carlton – all watching, and he gave them a grin before he worked his magic. "But it's super duper secret, so don't tell anyone." He pulled a finger up to his lips and looked at all of them, making sure they can tell how very serious this was.

"I know you're mad about us having to take Santa away, but you have to understand. He didn't pay his elves very well. Most of the toy production was outsourced to China. And he's been doing the South Beach diet instead of keeping that bowl full of jelly-belly we all know and love. That's not the right way for Santa to be, is it?"

Some of the kids shook their heads.

Shawn beamed, "Exactly. So what we're gonna do? We're gonna take him, take all of his magic away, and give it to someone more in-tune with the holiday spirit. Santa Lassieclaus over there, for instance. He's full of it. Warms the sweet cockles of his heart, it does, to see kids like you happy. But if you won't support him, then," Shawn frowned quite sadly. "Then that bad Santa gets to keep being mean and awful."

Within minutes, Shawn had the kids rushing Carlton – who almost went for his gun, but didn't, and Shawn thought he might actually believe in Christmas miracles – saying they believed in him, that he'd be the best Santa ever.

None of them even asked for presents.

Carlton turned a shocked expression towards Shawn who gave him a small salute and a bright grin before turning to the parents to explain what had really happened with Mr. Smuggles Drugs In Children's Toys that they'd had to sadly lock away. Not quite as magical, but when he looked back, Carlton was surrounded by laughing kids, smiling gently, and Shawn felt something warm settle in his chest and something like victory lift his spirits up.

It was going to be a great Christmas.


	20. Two Grown Men On A Child-Size Sled

One year, they rent a cabin up north for Christmas. There's a big hill behind the house, and Carlton knows from the moment he sees it that terrible things are going to happen. But they still end up, late at night and maybe a little drunk, cuddled together on a sled that isn't meant to fit two grown men.

"This is such a bad idea," Carlton says, looking down the incline that looks a little steep from where he is.

"Yeah," Shawn laughs. They push off and fly down the hill, laughing all the way before they inevitably crash, roll in the snow, and pull each other close, grinning and kissing as more snowflakes cover them.


	21. Hubert The Voyeur Snowman

"W-wait," Shawn stammers, his hands scrambling against the wall for purchase.

Carlton glances up at him with an arched eyebrow, wondering why on earth Shawn wants him to stop. Shawn reaches out, fingers twitching near the shelf. Carlton smirks at his shaking hands and distracts him just a little more, tongue darting out, tasting his skin. Shawn's head falls back, biting his lip to contain the noises that try to escape.

It takes a few more seconds of groping from both sides before Shawn's fingers find the ceramic snowman on the shelf, turning it away, those black, beady eyes no longer watching the two of them. "Hubert's too innocent," Shawn says. "He doesn't need to see this."

Carlton rolls his eyes, but he knows the best way to shut Shawn up. He bends his head, and it doesn't take long before Shawn is beyond words.


	22. Ring-a-ling

The moment he shows up, Carlton waits for someone to say something. It was a joke, a passing mention the last time Shawn scared the shit out of him while Carlton was lost in thought. Trust Shawn to take him literally – he probably did it just because he knew it would annoy Carlton. Would make him feel equal parts aroused and angry.

The green ribbon winds around his neck, and a silver jingle bell rests in the hollow of his throat, ringing out clearly with every small movement and shift, every step. Carlton could hear him the entire day, every step, every time he was so close but never close enough.

Even when Shawn tails them to a crime scene, he's bouncing all around the place, and Carlton hears the bell before he even knows Shawn's crossed his line. Carlton watches him go around the scene, doing his usual ridiculous stunts.

One of the uniforms sneers at Shawn, and that's when Carlton steps in, sneering right back at him, daring him to say something. "It's a psychic amplifier," Shawn explains, lies so easily, and it ought to bother Carlton more how he does that, but Shawn pulls his head up, pushing his chest forward, showing off the collar and the bell like he's never been more proud. Carlton tries to hide the soft, warm feeling that tingles all over, but he almost can't crush the dopey smile before it makes its appearance. "Makes my visions that much stronger."

He glances towards Carlton with hooded eyes and a secretive smile, "It was Det. Lassiter's idea."

Carlton keeps himself from flushing, but it's a close battle.

He does later, embarrassed at how much heat he feels flooding through his face and body as he gently pushes Shawn down onto their bed. "Was I a good boy?"

Carlton catches the ribbon with his teeth, the bell jingling as Shawn gasps breathlessly at the scrape of Carlton's teeth. He tugs until the knot comes loose, pulls it away and tosses it to the side. "You could say that," he growls before marking Shawn's neck his way. The next time he wears the ribbon and bell, they'll be sitting pretty next to it, drawing the eye.

That makes Carlton grin and bite down again. If they're gonna stare at his boy – and they will because that's what Shawn wants, and what Shawn wants, Shawn gets – then he's going to give them something to stare at.


	23. A Private Show

They're rushing around, putting up Christmas decorations, decking the station in full holiday attire in their spare moments, and Shawn's grin is so big it almost hurts. He loves Christmas, loves the spirit, the decorations, the way it affects the entire world around him, turning it cheery and bright.

The greatest prize, though, occurs around noon when they're eating take out around Juliet's desk, and Shawn realizes that he can hear music faintly over the chatter of officers and the other regular noises of the station. When he looks over, he sees Lassiter getting coffee, humming something Shawn recognizes that makes him want to smile even bigger.

He slinks over to Lassiter's desk not long after, thankful that Lassiter doesn't see him as he keeps humming along, one carol after another. Lassiter hasn't taken part in any of the other Christmas festivities, but Shawn thinks that makes the songs sound so much sweeter.

"Best show I've been to in a while," he says when Lassiter's humming dies off as he concentrates on a file.

Lassiter doesn't look up when Shawn passes by, but Shawn catches a hint of a smile, and he can't help his own as he flings himself back into the decorating, his mind replaying the private show again and again, making him feel as jolly as he's ever been.


	24. The Real Squirrel-Wives of Santa Barbara

Nuts are one of the few things Shawn can't sneak in on a regular basis. "Squirrel bait," Carlton continually decrees with narrowed eyes before he has Shawn either throw them away or take them to the Psych office. But in the middle of December, Shawn walks into their home to find the coffee table lined with assorted bowls – peanuts, chestnuts, almonds, all assorted, relatively healthy goodies that Shawn normally doesn't even want except that Lassie's forbidden them.

He catches Carlton nearby, his eyes pointedly glaring towards the window, keeping an eye on the pests that have, against his wishes, made their home in the branches of the only tree.

It's not about the nuts – hell, Shawn probably won't eat most of them; he'll give them to Gus or Jules or his dad – but about the fact that Carlton was willing to sacrifice one of his many, many rules for the sake of Shawn's happiness even though they both knew Shawn just wanted to rebel. But, for once, one of the few people who never bends to him has proven himself flexible.

Shawn finds that even metaphorical flexibility is hot as hell.

He pops a de-shelled peanut into his mouth and saunters over to his boyfriend, looping his arms over his shoulder and peering out at their back yard. "There's Alphonse," he says, having named the squirrels for the sake of irritating Carlton. "But where's Becky?"

"Neighbors," Carlton responds gruffly, playing along in Shawn's game whether he wants to or not. "She'll be back." There's a pause, and then Carlton sighs, "Look what you've done to me."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It is."

"Love me anyway?"

Carlton glances at him out of the corner of his eye before returning his full attention to the squirrel outside. "Of course." Shawn beamed up at him, enjoying the small, almost-hidden twitch of a smile that was all, 100% for him.


	25. Together, Spirits Rise

It takes a lot to get them both into the spirit of Christmas. Shawn, taught too early how to snoop and guess for his presents and coming from a family that never really celebrated the magic of it all, fakes it well, but when he's tired and his audience small, he gives up on even pretending that he's in the right mood. Carlton, whose family always seemed to be the most tense with each other around the holidays, is resistant to wreaths and Christmas trees and shiny ornaments and decorations.

However, when the both of them are together, something changes. Like a flame to dry wood, the sparks they both have learned to stifle and ignore manage to ignite, and somehow they find themselves with _Feliz Navidad_ on repeat, decorating a tree that's far too big for their living room and laughing all the way.

Neither one of them really realizes it while they're out buying gifts, preparing food, watching movies, and singing along to the radio what's made the season change for them. But they settle together on the couch, cuddled and warm, to watch _A Christmas Story_ on Christmas Eve, and the little comments they both make along the way have them laughing, pulling themselves closer, kissing and laughing giddily at how happy and light everything feels.

They consider it, once the credits have begun to roll, meeting each other's eyes in the half-dark that's lit only by the strings of twinkling lights. They wordlessly agree as they mute the television when the movie starts up again before turning their attentions to the other.

It's a very merry Christmas indeed.


End file.
